


Transferred

by flyingcarpet



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Episode: S1e10 Lovecraft, Gen, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:43:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingcarpet/pseuds/flyingcarpet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce needs to talk to the Detective in charge of his parents' case. Wherever he may be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transferred

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pareidolia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pareidolia/gifts).



> Thanks to my SO for proofreading, in my hour of need.

Bruce stared at the stack of files in front of him and rubbed his eyes. He looked up at the board across the room, hung with photos and index cards and held together with lines of string. It was the same as ever. Nothing had changed. 

He needed a fresh perspective. He needed to talk to Gordon.

\-----

"GCPD," a bored voice answered.

"Detective Gordon, please," Bruce said, doing his best to sound like a confident adult. He was a concerned citizen. He had every right to speak to a public servant.

"Nobody here by that name." It was a clear statement, but still -- it made no sense. Bruce struggled to stay calm. 

"What-- Detective James Gordon, I met with him last week." _He saved my life._

"Gordon's been transferred," he said, as if this were all a waste of his time. "You wanna talk to Bullock?"

"No, thanks," Bruce said, remembering the gruff, red-haired man that never seemed to care as much as Gordon did, about anything. Especially not Bruce, or his parents. "Transferred? To where?"

The Sergeant laughed, a dry chuckle that didn't sound nice at all. "Guard duty at Arkham Asylum."

Bruce hung up the phone, without even saying the polite goodbye that Alfred would have insisted on.

He needed to talk to Gordon. But where could he find him? And how was he going to get into the city? Alfred would never allow him to go running around Gotham, hunting for Detective Gordon. Not after he'd been practically kidnapped by paid assassins. So... Should he call a cab? No, he couldn't just have a taxi pick him up in front of Wayne Manor, that was too obvious. 

He waited until Alfred was occupied, and slipped out of the house through the formal gardens, following the path he'd taken with Cat. It was late afternoon, and the grounds were bathed in warm, yellow light. All the plants were neat and perfectly trimmed, the paths straight and wide. Only a few weeks earlier, Bruce had run for his life here. It was hard to imagine.

Bruce walked and walked and kept on walking for what felt like forever, until his feet hurt and he was reconsidering the entire plan. He never had to walk anywhere. Even when he wanted to pick a fight, a towncar took him there. 

Eventually, he arrived at a dirty street, with a pawnshop and a bodega and three boarded-up storefronts in a row. Inside the little market, way in the back, was an old pay phone. He'd left his cell phone at home, to make it harder for Alfred to find him, but Cat had forced him to memorize her number. He dropped a quarter in the phone and dialed.

"What?" she said when she answered. 

"It's Bruce." He should have written out what he was going to say. "I-- I need a favor."

"Well, I guess I probably owe you one," she said. Bruce frowned a little at the grimy phone. That wasn't exactly what he meant. 

"I need to find Jim Gordon," he said. "Do you know where he would be?"

Half an hour later, they were walking into the marble-lined lobby of a condominium building downtown, and the doorman was tipping his hat to Cat. Bruce glared at him, but said nothing. They took an elevator full of gleaming brass up to the penthouse. The building was a lot nicer than he'd expected, but Bruce didn't give it much thought. He was accustomed to nice things. 

They walked down a short hall to a dark wood door. Cat reached out and tried the knob, but the door was locked. Bruce frowned at her, and raised his hand to knock. 

"I could open it myself," she said, with a sharp, proud smile. 

"Why?" Bruce asked, but what he really wanted to know was _where did you learn that?_ and _can you teach me?_

But Detective Gordon opened the door at that moment, and Bruce never got an answer to his questions, spoken or otherwise. Gordon leaned on the door frame and looked at them standing there in the hall. After a moment, he sighed and opened the door wider. 

"What happened to my parents' case?" Bruce asked, as soon as Gordon shut the door behind them. "Why aren't you investigating it anymore?" He crossed his arms over his chest, and wished he could be tall and intimidating.

Cat leaned back against the door and put her hands in her pockets, not even pretending not to listen.

"I was transferred," Gordon said, his voice clipped. He opened his mouth, as if he was about to say more, then stopped.

"You're needed there," Bruce insisted. He could hear his voice growing shrill, even to his own ears, but he didn't care. "You're the only decent detective in that place and my parents deserve--"

"There are a lot of people in Gotham who deserve better," Gordon said quietly. "I can't be the one to give it to them anymore." He didn't try to argue with Bruce's assessment of the GCPD.

"But--" Bruce wanted to scream and yell, wanted to _demand_ that Gordon go back to finding his parents' killer like he was supposed to, like he'd promised.

"Shit happens, kid," Gordon said, cutting off whatever argument Bruce had been about to make. "I'll help you out from the sidelines, but if you want to find your parents' killer, you'll have to do it yourself."

"I can't do this alone," Bruce said. He fumbled with the cuffs of his jacket, starched and pressed. He couldn't even track down Gordon without help. 

"You're stronger than you think," Gordon told him gently. "And you aren't alone."

Bruce looked up and saw two sets of concerned eyes watching him. 

"Let's go, Bruce," Cat said, and walked toward the door without looking back to see if he was following. Her footsteps did not make any sound.

As they left, Detective Gordon's words rang in Bruce's ears. He would think of them many times, in the dark years to come. _You're stronger than you think, and you aren't alone_.

As far as advice went, it wasn't much. But it was enough.


End file.
